


They Come In Pairs

by ashurbadaktu



Category: Adventures of Brisco County Jr., Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-24
Updated: 2009-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-05 04:07:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/37642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashurbadaktu/pseuds/ashurbadaktu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two guns with two very different destinies.  But maybe there's a connection between them.  A quick "What If?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Past

"Dad?"

Brisco County (Jr., in this case), looked up from his spot on the ground. He'd ridden out to this spot to clear his head, to bask in the sunshine for a while as Comet grazed...

To try and forget what he'd had to deal with in that damn _cabin_.

"Well, I ain't y'grandmother."

He shook his head to clear some of the sun out of his eyes and pulled his hat back onto his head.

"What's the problem now, Dad? I'm not allowed _three seconds_ to rest my head after what happened?"

His father's ghost eyed him cooly without answering, which had Brisco climbing to his feet and dusting himself off with an irritated grunt.

"I suppose that's a 'no' then."

"Damn right it ain't," his father chimed in, walking towards Comet to herd the animal back towards Brisco. "You need to get going. After that mess back in the last valley--"

"Mess?" he practically exploded. "You call that a mess? The thing was killing people, Dad, and my gun was useless. What was I supposed to do, hope it _rotted_ before it clawed my eyes out? I didn't even know what it was!"

"Zombie," the old man answered as Comet cantered, "And that was a tame one, son."

"A _tame_ one? What do the other ones do? Rip up the--"

Marshal County shook his head, his whiskers practically bristling with irritation.

"You don't want to know that, Brisco, and it isn't important right now."

Brisco looked skeptically at his father.

"Oh yeah? Well, what is?"

The old ghost snorted.

"Those reports of bloodless corpses up in Sheldon. And you shouldn't be wastin' time, son. It's gonna be dark soon enough."

"Bloodless--Shel--dar--"

He planted himself firmly in place.

"Okay, Dad, I'm not going _anywhere_ until you explain."

The senior County snorted.

"I've got to explain vampires to you? And here I thought I'd paid enough for that education of yours that it'd be worth something."

Brisco didn't balk. Instead, he got up on his horse and started cantering... in the opposite direction.

"You disobeying me, boy?"

He didn't turn around. "When you're _dead_ and talking about 'vampires', yeah. Yeah, I am."

Marshal County appeared, on his horse, in front of his son.

"You don't think I'm serious? When did I ever play games when people's lives were on the line?"

Brisco sighed tiredly. "Never, Dad, but isn't this just a little--"

"A little nothing," the old man barked, pointing towards the valley, towards the cabin. "You're going to tell me that was just a little something, son? Cause if you do, I'm not the madman here."

The younger, living man halted and looked back, thinking about what he'd seen in that cabin in the woods. He didn't say anything for a few minutes, nor did he turn, but when he finally did, it was with a resigned expression on his face.

"Vampires?"

"Vampires."

Brisco sighed.

"Is this going to become a habit of yours, Dad?"

The ghost snorted.

"I should hope you'll pick up the jist of it soon enough so I can get back to restin' in peace," he answered. "Though I suppose I'll have to get the gun in your hands."

That just confused him and left Brisco looking down at his hip where his father's gun rested snugly in it's holster.

"I have your gun, Dad. Getting senile in your--"

Well, that fell a bit flat.

"You never wondered where the other half of the pair was?"

And Brisco opened his mouth to say something in reply to that, but found that yes, he had a number of times. After all, he'd seen the other gun, the plain wood-handled gun, when he was a boy. He hadn't seen it for ages, though, so long ago that he'd almost forgot it. The plain gun, the one with the lawman's star carved into the handle and the words across the top. He'd always thought they were funny, especially considering his father'd never been much for religion.

"Well, yeah, Dad," he finally said, speaking slowly as he worked it all out in his head, "but... what does that have to do with hunting down _vampires_ and and and and the kinds of things like I dealt with back there?"

His father smiled, a tired, faintly amused sort of expression.

"It's not really something I can explain, son. It's just the sort of thing you're going to have to learn on the way."

"What does _that_ mean?"

"You'll find out in Sheldon," the spirit said as he wheeled his horse about. He gave the animal a pat and Brisco a smile. "Trust me. And trust yourself. Remember what I told you the last time."

Brisco blinked and in that moment, his father disappeared, horse and all. That left him irritated, annoyed, and that just made all the aches and pains from earlier pop right up from where they'd been hiding during his sunbath.

"What do you think, Comet?"

The horse neighed. So helpful. Brisco shook his head and resigned himself to what was to come.

"Why do I have a bad feeling about this?"


	2. The Present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just how historical is family history?

"You shouldn't tell him those stories."

Mary turned her head to look quizzically at her husband before putting her leg under the covers and slipping the rest of the way into bed.

"I shouldn't tell him which stories?"

John scratched at his hair a moment before waving a hand in the air in the vaguest of gestures. She should know what he meant. She'd just put Dean to sleep with one of them, after all.

"The monster stories?" she asked, one eyebrow raising in curiosity. "Why?"

"The boy's having nightmares and you're telling him monster stories?"

She shook her head against the pillows.

"He says they help," she argued gently, curling on her side to face him. She smiled as she looked over her husband, a hand reaching out to stroke a cheek. "They always helped me when I was little."

Now it was his turn to be curious. He turned on his side.

"You had nightmares?"

She nodded.

"All the time. And one day, my grandma--Grandma Dolly, not Grandma Hicks--she pulled me up into her lap and started telling me a story. My mother said it would only make it worse, but..."

"But?" John prompted with a faint little smile. Then he leaned over and kissed her at the corner of the mouth, eyes bright with affection. She smiled. John was always so sweet.

"But it helped," she said. "I don't think anything could've convinced me that the monsters in my dreams weren't real, but Grandma's stories convinced me that someone could get rid of them."

"Your great-grandfather?" John remembered. Maybe he'd been listening at the door for a little longer than he'd admitted. Maybe. After all, it was a good story. "And he was--"

"A bounty hunter," she replied with a whimsical smile. Her family's rather colorful history was never passed over for a bit of light ribbing and even she had to admit it was pretty out there. John's parents, a railroad man and a school teacher respectively, gave far less opportunity for teasing.

"Better than a Clint Eastwood movie," he said admiringly, "crossed with a little Bela Lugosi."

She laughed, quiet so as not to wake either of the boys.

"Just for flavor."

He kissed her then, mostly for being Mary. He kissed her for that a lot and she didn't seem to mind. Sometimes, she'd even kiss him for being John.

"They're good stories," he finally said, stroking a strand of her hair away from her eyes. "It'd be nice if things were like that in real life."

"Got a fascination with things that go bump in the night, John?" she teased gently, sliding over to wrap her arms around him.

He shook his head.

"Nah. It'd just be nice if you could just get rid of all your troubles with a magic bullet."


End file.
